


what we make for ourselves

by Anxiety_Elemental



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Breeding Kink, M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Wranduin Summer Kink Meme, striptease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anxiety_Elemental/pseuds/Anxiety_Elemental
Summary: “You’re the king, do you really have to go to some noble’s party in the countryside?” Wrathion complains from Anduin’s armchair, “You must have better things to do.”
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	what we make for ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the folks at the Wranduin Discord who offered encouraging words while I was writing Baby’s First Smut. Thank you. I'm sorry. This is all your fault.
> 
> This takes place at some nebulous time after BfA, and since Shadowlands isn’t out yet I’m ignoring it entirely.
> 
> Warnings include: “hey where’s our royal heir”-ness, discussion of trans pregnancy and childbirth. Please note the tags.
> 
> (If I ever miss any warnings please let me know so I can tag them appropriately now and in the future!)

“You’re the king, do you _really_ have to go to some noble’s party in the countryside?” Wrathion complains from Anduin’s armchair, “You must have better things to do.”

Anduin checks himself in the standing mirror, making sure every little piece of his elaborate outfit is in place. “Being king means there are certain expectations, and that includes being part of certain social circles,” he says, running a hand along his hair, “Besides, it’s not just about socializing. So much of Stormwind’s politics is bartering favors, and this is a way to secure good faith or future aid from a noble house.”

“Yes, yes,” Wrathion waves a vague, dismissive hand.

Wrathion was more than content to leave mortal affairs to mortals, free from the meddling of dragons, as it should be. Frankly, even if he did want to meddle he’s not sure he’d be able to, their politics can be so dreadfully _boring_. He’s read the guest list for the evening, memorized their names and political stances, noting ones who might cause problems. So much of it is small power grabs, in money or land or favor. Their ambitions are so _small_.

“With how much you openly detest Stormwind’s nobility,” Anduin says, not without sympathy, “I’m surprised you were invited too.”

“I believe our host wants to brag about inviting a dragon to his home,” Wrathion says, sinking further into the armchair, “I suspect I will be receiving a very different kind of attention than you. I wouldn’t have agreed to go if you were not there as well.”

“Ah, yes,” Anduin turns away from the mirror to look at Wrathion, “The king’s chaperone.”

“Less of a chaperone, more of a getaway dragon,” Wrathion argues, and Anduin’s lips twitch, not quite a smile, “For when you tire of boring small talk.”

“Some of them mean well,” Anduin counters, leaning against a wall to give his leg a rest, “They want to express sincere concerns or have genuine input. Some of them are nice, and I enjoy their company. ”

Wrathion was about to say something to the contrary, but kept the thought to himself. Anduin was not up for their usual games.

He looks exhausted already.

“I suppose you would rather I spend the whole evening with you,” Anduin adds.

“Very astute,” Wrathion confirms, smugly.

He knows Anduin has few friends among the nobility. Most are significantly older than he is, and they all have their eyes his throne, and the empty space at his side. As the Alliance settles into peacetime, the hungrier those stares became. Wrathion may only spend some of his time in Stormwind, but enough to know their secret ambitions. Many have some candidate they molded into the perfect suitor, and dream of royal grandchildren carrying their family’s name. It makes Wrathion’s skin crawl.

Anduin pushes off from the wall, and walks over to Wrathion’s chair to place a quick kiss on his forehead, “Try to enjoy yourself tonight,” Anduin says, “Maybe you’ll even make a new friend.”

“But I already have one,” Wrathion argues.

Anduin just laughs.

——

Lord Something-Or-Other’s estate was up on the hill behind the town of Redridge, overlooking the town and lake. Enchanted lights line the grounds, leading the way to the manor. The party began in the early evening, while the sun was still in the sky. Wrathion, meanwhile, was in no hurry.

They agreed to arrive separately, Anduin with his guards and Wrathion by himself. Their relationship was one they’ve so far kept private, and for now they were content to keep it that way. It also gives Wrathion a little extra time to setup something, just in case Anduin needs an early escape during the evening.

Wrathion himself arrives fashionably late, of course. He makes a grand entrance, pushing open the double doors to the ballroom, turning every eye there.

“Lord Wrathion!” says an old man Wrathion recognized as their host for the evening, “It is an honor to have you with us this evening!”

“The honor is mine,” Wrathion lies.

The party is, as expected, _dreadfully boring_. He spends much of the evening wandering around the ballroom where the party takes place, sometimes watching the dancers, often going back to the to grab another drink or a snack. Much of it is a blur, he doesn’t care to recall exactly who he speaks to or about what. Mostly they just want to ask him what it’s like to be a dragon, and hey you’re friends with the king, yes? Could you give me some advice? He just smiles, all teeth, and politely declines, they’re not that close, after all.

There is, fortunately, a lavish buffet and a well-stocked bar. If there’s one things mortals do right, it’s food and drink.

Wrathion has been deliberately avoiding Anduin all night, to give him space. He’s here to support Anduin if he needs it, not to flutter behind him like an overprotective hen. All the same Anduin is the only one at the party he really knows, or cares to know. When boredom wins, he starts to wander the ballroom, searching for a familiar blond head. He doesn’t even have to search for that long.

Anduin is speaking to another young man. Wrathion recalls vaguely this is the son of the party’s host, having spotted him speaking with many other guests through the evening. Anduin is smiling at him, listening intently to whatever their conversation is. The young noble says something that makes Anduin laugh.

Wrathion’s thoughts turn dark and jealous, and shame curls up in his throat. He’s worked hard to realize when his thoughts turn in a dangerous direction, to root out ugliness trying to grow in his heart. Anger, doubt, despair, pride, all the lessons of Pandaria he once dismissed, he’s since embraced. Anduin deserves better than Wrathion’s pettiest impulses.

He still feels a twisted protective desire to do something that would chase away those with bad intentions and greed in their hearts. He can see so clearly in his mind’s eye: Wrathion strides across the room, turning every eye as he passes, staring in awe. In a single, fluid motion, he takes the king by the hand, pulls him into his arms, and place a passionate kiss on his lips. Then he wraps his arms around Anduin’s thighs and lifts him to to pin him against the wall and takes him there for all to see. Show them all how Anduin embraces him, moves with him, and hear the breathy way Anduin laughs only when he’s close. And months later, when a black dragon whelp with blue eyes is born, they’ll all know without a shadow of a doubt who has their king’s heart.

Wrathion downs the rest of his wine in one gulp. He desperately tries to remember the algorithm predicting the movements of stars in the sky, name all the regions of Kalimdor in reverse alphabetical order, or something equally dry, anything to keep the blood from rushing to unfortunate places.

This distracts him for long enough for someone else to approach Anduin, someone with a name he does care to remember, Genn Greymane. Genn is leaning down to whisper something in Anduin’s ear. After a moment, Anduin nods, his face blank, and the two begin to walk to the room’s exit.

Private talks with Greymane never seem to end well for Anduin, and Wrathion decides it’s time to move in closer.

He follows the two of them at a distance as they weave through the crowd, politely excusing themselves. They exit the ballroom, and find a quiet balcony, otherwise unoccupied, looking out over the distant lake. Wrathion leans against a wall as near as he dares and as casually as he can, draconic ears picking up their voices:

“It’s good to see you out and about,” Genn begins.

“The change of scenery is nice,” Anduin replies, sounding relieved, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Redridge, it’s a beautiful province. I wish I could travel more.”

“Have you had a chance to talk to our host’s son?” Genn asks.

“I spoke with him earlier,” Anduin says, “It was nice.”

“He’s a nice young lad,” Genn adds.

“Yes,” Anduin agrees, his voice suddenly tight.

“You should get to know him better,” Genn continues, insistent.

Anduin says nothing.

“He’s from a good family,” Genn adds, “A long line that has served Stormwind faithfully. He would be a worthy addition to House Wrynn.”

“Is that what this is about?” Anduin says, harshly.

Genn sighs, long and deep. “My boy, Mia and I married young, as did your parents. We live in a dangerous world, with enemies all around us. You should at least have a spouse by your side, to say nothing of the heir you must soon - ”

“We’re not discussing this.” Anduin interrupts.

Genn presses on regardless, “Anduin, I understand this can be an uncomfortable topic, but I’m trying to help you. You need to wed and you need an heir, just as every king and queen did before you. Why are you so resistant to the idea?”

“What do you expect from me?” Anduin demands, his tone biting, “You want me to wed any noble who looks my way? Should I pick from the ones that boast of their virility? I know how people talk behind my back, forgive me if I expect more out of potential partners.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Genn lowers his voice to a whisper, “You and Tess have so much in common, just say the word - ”

“Enough,” Anduin says, just above his normal speaking volume, “We’ve spoken to each other and with you about this, and if you won’t listen then we have nothing more to talk about.”

Wrathion backs away when he hears Anduin’s footsteps, slinking to hide himself in shadow. He hears Genn call out to Anduin as he walks past Wrathion’s hiding spot, to disappear deeper into the manor’s halls. Genn himself frowns after Anduin, worry in his face, before turning away and heading back in the direction of the party.

It doesn’t take long to find Anduin after. He’d found the manor’s library, and tucked himself into a space between the bookshelves, arms crossed and eyes on the floor. Wrathion makes a polite cough to get his attention. Anduin startles, and quickly assumes his regular regal mask.

“Advisor,” Anduin says in greeting with practiced indifference, “I did not expect to see you here.”

“I couldn’t resist the invitation to such an event,” Wration replies with equal distance, “I’ve heard of these parties and wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Instead of answering, Anduin’s shoulders slump, defeated.

Wrathion quickly glances up and down the hall, making sure they’re alone, before he places a reassuring hand on Anduin’s back. “We can leave quietly, or I can take my true form right on the front lawn if you desire a stylish exit.”

Anduin curls up on himself, “I just want to leave.”

Wrathion nods, “Quietly it is, then.”

Anduin says nothing else as Wrathion guides him out of the manor, though a back exit, and up the hill away from the estate, made easier by the cover of night. When they’re far enough away, Wrathion transforms and Anduin climbs on his back. In total silence, Wrathion brings him to the little sanctuary he’d made.

The cave was one Wrathion found several days before, on the opposite side of the region from the estate where the party was held. The view looks over much of the valley, perfectly secluded and unreachable except for those with wings. He’d taken some extra time to stock it with a couple of chairs, a mattress and sheets, and a packed basket.

“We can spend the evening however you like,” Wrathion began, walking across the cave, “I have some food and water here, there’s the bed if you just want to nap, we could just sit and talk, or if you’re up for a longer flight I could take you home instead…”

He trails off when he realizes Anduin hasn’t moved. He’s still standing at the mouth of the cave, arms crossed, staring back out at the lights of the distant town. His whole body is stiff, and Wrathion can just catch a shine in his eyes.

Wrathion moves to stand by Anduin’s side, cautiously, aware of how fragile the moment is, “Is this about Genn?”

Anduin runs a hand down his face, “I’ve been hearing those questions more and more. When will I marry, who will I marry, when will I have an heir…” Wrathion can hear him suppressing the shake in his voice, “I want to marry and I want to have children, but not in the way my people need me to.”

“I hate watching you endure this,” Wrathion says, “I see you unhappy and in the company of people I don’t trust. You are being asked to pay a great price, and I don’t see you rewarded for your sacrifice.”

Anduin continues to stare out at the world beyond.

“If you want me to leave you alone to this, then I will,” Wrathion continues, keeping his voice gentle, “But they’re vultures and you know it. When they look at you they don’t see you, they see the throne, and imagine themselves on it. You’ve already done all the real, hard work of securing peace for your kingdom, and now your nobles look to ride your coattails to glory.”

“Not all of them,” Anduin argues, without conviction.

“How do you know which is which?” Wrathion asks.

Anduin says nothing, something in his expression wilts.

“There must be some other way,” Wrathion insists.

“I belong to my people,” Anduin says, voice far away, “My loyalty, my life, and my body.”

Wrathion’s gaze dropped to Anduin’s right leg, his thoughts to the prosthetic underneath, “Haven’t you given them enough? Can’t you be selfish about this one thing?”

Anduin tilts his head back and closes his eyes. Anduin reaches out a hand in Wrathion’s direction, and he takes it, giving the hand a quick reassuring squeeze. “I want to,” Anduin began, voice soft, “I would take you as my husband, so we would never part. I would find a way to appoint someone good as heir, keep my people’s future safe that way.” He takes a deep breath, and his voice shakes only a little, “My people just want to know the kingdom is secure if anything happens to me, there’s nothing wrong with that.” He takes another deep breath, but the shake is still there, “There has to be a different, better way to do things. But Stormwind is still recovering from the Fourth War, and there just hasn’t been _time_ …”

Anduin trails off, despair written on his face. Stormwind demands a human consort and a human heir. Even if a dragon and a human could mate, neither Wrathion nor any whelp of his would be what is expected of Anduin. Nothing else about them mattered.

It wasn’t fair.

Wrathion leans in close and wraps an arm around Anduin’s waist, “My dear prince,” he murmurs, “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Anduin breath catches, his lips tremble, “I don’t know.”

Wrathion wraps his other arm around Anduin, pressing him to his chest, holding him close. Anduin leans back into him, seeking warmth. They stand quietly together for some time, looking together out at the distant town, the nighttime lights reflected on the lake’s surface. After a time, Anduin’s breathing begins to relax, comes back from the edge of tears.

Wrathion presses a kiss to the king’s shoulder, then nuzzles his ear. “Let us pretend, for a moment, that I could solve this problem for you,” he whispers, his arms tightening around Anduin’s body, just so, “I would make love to you every night, bathe you in pleasure, until that love takes root and blooms.” His hands glide across Anduin’s hips to rest on his lower belly, Anduin shuddering under the supernatural warmth of Wrathion’s hands, “You could hide it for a time, it would be cute to see you try,” Wrathion takes a quick nip at Anduin’s ear, “Wear your armor more, try looser clothes, but that won’t work for long. Your whole kingdom would watch you grow heavy with life _I_ sired. Then they’ll all realize how foolish they were to think they could ever compete with a dragon.”

Anduin’s breathing picks up, his body still tense under Wrathion’s hands. “By the _Light,_ Wrathion.”

“…Too much?” Wrathion asks, a bit sheepishly.

Anduin laughs, wet but genuine, “Not at all.”

Wrathion places a soft kiss to Anduin’s neck, “Then let us pretend a little more.” he whispers, “My love, my light, my mate, would you give me the honor of fathering your child?”

Anduin turns around to face him, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks but a bright smile on his lips, “I would like that very much.”

They kiss, and then kiss deeper, wrapping their arms around one another, building heat and desire. Wrathion’s hands fumble for the buttons of Anduin’s coat, only for Anduin to stop him with a firm grip on his wrist.

“No,” Anduin says, and Wrathion instantly freezes, but there was a glint in Anduin’s eye Wrathion knows well. Anduin places a hand on Wrathion’s sternum, and with a firm push guides him until he is sitting down on one of the chairs, “I am still king. I will take as much time as I please, and you will wait until I call for you.”

Wrathion always thought himself a patient man, but Anduin always found ways to fray that patience. Anduin begins by removing one glove by tugging on one finger at a time: pinky, ring, middle, index, thumb, before sliding it off his hand. Then he repeats the same agonizing pace with the other: pinky, ring, middle, index, thumb. He tosses his gloves to one side, without looking where they fall. He reaches up to remove the tie from his ponytail, and takes a moment to run both hands through his hair, before letting golden locks fall to his shoulders.

Next he starts with the buttons on his coat, shrugs it off and discards it, and does the same with the vest underneath. He slows the paces when he reaches his white undershirt, revealing only the smallest amount of skin at each button. Anduin turns his back and lets the shirt begin to slip down, revealing the muscles of his back and shoulders, strengthened by sword training and the use of heavy armor. Wrathion recalls when Anduin first picked him up in a tight hug, in a moment of unguarded joy. (Wrathion had not _swooned_ , no matter what Anduin claimed.)

Wrathion’s hand begins to wander town towards his cock, ready to lean into his own arousal.

“Stop,” Anduin commands, looking over his shoulder at Wrathion with a disapproving frown, “I told you to wait.”

He returns his hand to his side to grip the seat of the chair instead, Anduin’s words locking him in place as securely as any chain. “I apologize, Your Majesty.”

Anduin make a short _hm_ noise, discards his undershirt, then returns to undressing. He moves slowly, somewhat awkwardly, to sit on the cave floor to unlace his boots. Once they and his socks are removed he stands again. He doesn’t take off his belt right away, instead turning his body at just the right angle to show off his abs, and runs his hands across his own chest and shoulders, making Wrathion cling to the chair even harder. Anduin’s own patience must be wearing thin, for he removes his belt quickly, but then removes his pants slowly, one leg at a time, posing his left and taking care with his prosthetic right. He raises his arms above his head and stretches his whole body, sighing with the release of tension, before removing his underwear and tossing it to join the rest of his clothes in the distant pile he’s made.

Even naked there’s still a sense of power and grace from Anduin. He wears the moonlight like a silver shawl, bright and ethereal. Wrathion wonders, not for the first time, how anyone ever thought such a radiant creature would ever be anything other than a priest of the Light.

“Now,” Anduin gives him a short nod, “Your turn.”

Wrathion stands up so quickly he almost trips on the legs of the chair. He removes his own clothes with much greater speed and much less care, and Anduin laughs, “So eager already?”

He’s certainly already hard, even untouched. But still he keeps his hands to his sides for now, he’ll wait for His Majesty’s orders.

Wrathion watches the thoughtful expression on Anduin’s face, examining him, appraising him, measuring his worth. Wrathion decides to take the initiative.

“If you would allow me,” Wrathion says, moving to kneel at Anduin’s feet, “I would like to demonstrate _all_ the ways I can serve.”

Anduin looks down at him with lidded eyes, sits down in the second chair, and spreads his legs wide, “You may.”

Wrathion can smell how wet Anduin is before he even draws close, of salt and musk and wanting. As he kneels down between the king’s legs, he presses a quick kiss to the king’s cock, before leaning in to feast. He starts with a long, slow lick, and Anduin sighs, shoulders relaxing for the first time all evening.

Wrathion teases Anduin’s thigh with his teeth, before back to licking his folds. As he builds speed and pressure, Anduin grips his head with both hands, grabbing fistfuls of curly hair.Wrathion allows one hand to slide down and begin to stroke his own cock, giving himself some relief, even as he continues to increase his pace between Anduin’s legs. Anduin’s legs shake as Wrathion shifts to wrap his lips around his cock instead, sucking and licking and just barely grazing it with his teeth. With one last buck into Wrathion’s mouth Anduin cries out, a rush of slick soaking Wrathion’s beard. Wrathion places a quick, last kiss to the tip of Anduin’s dick before drawing back to look up at his face.

Anduin’s eyes are closed, a small smile on his face, as he sits slumped over and boneless in the chair. When he cracks open one eye, Wrathion makes a show of licking his lips, making Anduin shudder and groan.

“Now,” Wrathion kisses the inside of Anduin’s thigh, “I believe I have a promise to keep before the night is done.”

“You do,” Anduin says, standing up. Anduin pauses and considers the mattress, his weight on his left leg. He decides to crawl onto the mattress until he’s on all fours, his legs spread, exposing himself once again. He looks back over at Wrathion, and when he doesn’t move, Anduin snaps his fingers at him.

It’s Wrathion’s turn to laugh, “As His Majesty commands.”

He moves to kneel down on the mattress behind him, pressing his hips to Anduin’s rear, wrapping his arms around his torso, mounting him as he might another dragon. He presses a soft kiss between Anduin’s shoulder blades, and gently pushes inside. He moans, doing nothing to keep quiet, as he feels Anduin’s wet heat consume him.

Anduin bucks his hips against Wrathion, sharp and impatient, and he just laughs. He grips Anduin’s hips and begins to build a rhythm of short, harsh thrust. Words quickly fail them both, reduced to panting and moans as they rock together. They revel in the unity of their bodies, their shared pleasure, unbound from any duty or judgment.

The pitch of Anduin’s cries begins to change, a familiar sign. One hand moves from Anduin’s hip down to his cock, giving it a rough tug. He rubs and rubs until Anduin crashes over the edge with a loud cry, shuddering around Wrathion’s cock. It’s not long until Wrathion follows, his thrusts becoming erratic. He leans forward to bite into Anduin’s shoulder, shouts into Anduin’s skin, and spills his seed inside Anduin’s ready body.

The slump together, still joined, their shared breathing labored. Wrathion’s hands again slide down to rest on Anduin’s belly. If only. It would be a grand legacy for them both, a black dragon not just uncorrupt, but blessed.

“Did a mere mortal manage to tire a great dragon Aspect?” Anduin teases, twisting his shoulders to smirk back at Wrathion.

Wrathion, still breathless, responds with a smack to Anduin’s thigh, which only makes him laugh. Wrathion draws back and out, wincing at the overstimulation. Anduin collapses to the mattress and rolls over to smile up at him, relaxed and content. He reaches out a hand, “Come here.”

Wrathion obeys without a second thought, leaning into his lover’s embrace, safe in their cave sanctuary. They lay quietly for a while, Anduin running a hand through Wrathion’s soft, dark curls, Wrathion with his head on Anduin’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

“I would like it,” Anduin murmurs, closing his eyes, “I think it would be beautiful.”

“Hm?” Wrathion gazed up at Anduin’s face, struggling to keep his own eyes open.

“If we had a child,” Anduin says, softly, “What better way to show the world peace and healing is possible.”

Wrathion smiles, gentle and warm, as he does for no one else, “Of course you’d see it that way.”


End file.
